"Kenneth Robeson - Doc Savage 010 - The Phantom City" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robeson Kenneth)

The bronze of the hair was a shade darker than the bronze of the skin. The hair lay straight and smooth,
like a metallic skullcap. The unusually high forehead, the lean, corded cheeks, the muscular mouth,
advertised a rare power of character.

Most striking were the eyes - like pools of flake gold glistening in the vague light. Their gaze seemed to
have a hypnotic quality, an intensity almost weird.

"Get your hands up!" gritted one of the Arabs in fair English,
DOC SAVAGE studied the four. His bronze features did not change expression; the quartet might have
been putting on some kind of a show, for all the excitement he showed. His hands remained on the
wheel.

The body of the limousine was armorplate steel, although the fact was not evident to the casual glance.
The windows were an inch thick, of the latest bullet-proof glass; it would take a steel slug from a tank
rifle to get through them.

He spoke in a low voice, not moving his lips. His words were distinct.

"Four men!" he said. "They look like Arabs. They popped out of a doorway with pistols."

The dark gunman quartet saw no lip movement indicating speech. They heard no words. The limousine
was soundproofed against normal noises.

"Anta sami'!" rapped the spokesman. "Do you hear? Get your hands up!"

Doc continued, still without moving his lips. "These fellows are strangers. Think I'll play along, and see
what's on their minds. You men can cover us, if you crave a little action."

Once more the Arabs failed to realize words had been spoken. Had they heard, they would have been
puzzled at the brief descriptive speech. It was unlikely that they would have understood its purpose.

Reaching over slowly, Doc unlocked the door. He started to get out.

"La!" grunted one of the men. "No! Stay where you are!" The fellow eased into the front seat, gun alert.
The other three clambered in the back.

They did not notice the bullet-proof glass or the armor plate, and did not guess the bronze man's
surrender was deliberate. They were jubilant.

"Talk freely, and you will not be harmed!" one advised.

"Shu biddak?" Doc asked in excellent Arabic. "What do you want?"

The four looked somewhat surprised.

"So you speak our tongue!" one muttered.

"Slightly," Doc admitted. He used the dialect peculiar to the part of Arabia from which these men hailed -
the southern coast. He neglected to add that he had a fluent command of dialects from almost all other